“Based on what I know so far,” I continue, “leaving him in his own environment is what makes sense,” and what I’m saying is I’m not prepared to charge him with anything at this stage of the investigation.
More than that, I’m letting Fran know there will be no argument. It’s my decision, and no one’s barging in and taking this kid away from me right now.
“I don’t think he should be unsupervised,” her negative voice in my ear.
“Hopefully he won’t be.”
“In case you didn’t know, his grandmother’s that crazy old bat who claimed to be struck by lightning a couple summers back. Do you remember?”
“I wasn’t on that particular call,” I reply blandly, not wanting Lex to know I’m talking about his situation at home as I feel him staring holes in me.
“All I can say is when I pulled up at their trailer this afternoon, the windows were covered with gift wrap paper,” Fran says. “And the grandmother didn’t come to the door. So, I don’t know how much supervising she’ll be doing. Probably, he shouldn’t be with someone like that, let’s be honest.”
“I think there’s a lot we don’t know,” I don’t want to go down that path, at least not yet. “When are you heading out?”
“Not for a while. I’ll feel better when everybody clears off campus.”
As she says it, ART shows me the ID badges on the same sitemap as before. In my lenses I see the same NASA personnel and private contractors who were at the Gantry moments ago, only now a handful of them have relocated to the hangar where the test model is being hauled.
“It’s good if you’re not too far away because I may need your help in a little while,” I let Fran know. “I have a feeling we’re going to end up searching a mobile home near the speedway, and I need you to keep this between us.”
“I’m confused. His mobile home? Or one related to him?”
“Possibly relating to the unidentified man found in the Denali, the alleged suicide.”
“You think you know who he is?”
“I think I may have found where he lived. Lex is helping me,” I glance over at him as he listens intently, his face a road map of worry.
“And how is he helping? I didn’t realize he’s junior detective now,” Fran retorts sarcastically, and I tend to ignore how jealous she can get. “What are you talking about?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Are you telling me this kid has some sort of connection to the dude whose head was blown off?” she asks incredulously.
“That’s how it’s looking.”
“And I didn’t think this day could get any weirder.”
“For now, don’t share this with anyone,” I repeat. “Not Butch, Scottie, Celeste, not even the chief. No one.”
“How about we run the address? Let’s see what we can find out before anybody shows up. Having a clue what we might be walking into is always a good idea.”
“There’s no we,” I reply. “I don’t know the address yet but when I do? Nobody’s showing up there unless I say. I’ll get back to you when I have more,” and I end the call as Lex resumes fretting out loud about being killed in horrendous ways or rotting in the slammer.
“Nobody will believe me,” he obsesses.
“Did you and Vera email or text each other? If so, maybe there’s a record of her referencing the thumb drive or asking you questions.”
“No,” he blows out in exasperation. “It was always in person or over the phone, and I can’t prove anything. Why? Because I’m stupid. Then I did even stupider things today.”
He was no match for Neva and Vera, they set him up but good, entangling him in their web. Then he made matters worse by turning the NASA campus into a potentially deadly amusement park with his Helmet Fire game. The sad fact is, it won’t be easy to extricate him or clear his name, assuming he’s guilty of nothing more than cyber mischief.
Committed under great duress by a juvenile, I might add, and we’ve almost reached NASA’s modern brick protective services headquarters next to the firehouse. Scottie, the other Bobbsey Twin, is waiting in the parking lot, my headlights blazing on her holding a small green quilted jacket that doesn’t look very warm.
Opening the Tahoe’s front windows all the way, I’m back to doing things for myself, placing phone calls, finding switches, doing things manually as if there’s no ART, and not liking it much. Scottie bends down to get in Lex’s face, unable to resist asserting her big bad authority to an upset kid the size of a minnow.
“It wasn’t cute what you did earlier,” she says aggressively, her long pale-blonde hair blowing around her self-conscious prettiness. “In fact, it was really dumb for someone who’s supposed to be so smart,” she shoves his coat at him, and I never knew she was a bully. “You’re lucky you didn’t get lost down there. You might not have been found for years, if ever.”
“I don’t get lost,” Lex says to me, not her, as we sit in the protective services parking lot, the last embers of the setting sun reflected by our headquarters’ big glass windows.
“Huh, you’re just lucky you didn’t turn into a mummy. You know how hot it can get in those old steam tunnels?” Scottie snarls.
“Up to 140 degrees Fahrenheit, 60 Celsius, if you end up in the wrong ones at the wrong time because you don’t know the schematics,” he replies, not looking at her.
“Well, aren’t you a walking Wikipedia,” she sputters.
“That’s not how I know about it.”
“I’m sorry NASA ever gave you permission to come here. I’m even sorrier you’ve decided to abuse a privilege nobody else gets. Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
His answer is to stare straight ahead.
“You think I can’t make you?” And to me, she says just as inappropriately, “Do you believe this? Can you get over this smart aleck little piece of . . . ?”